oedipusrat | TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

[several months after this initial interaction]

Rachette doesn't kick in the door. She's not a barbarian. But the door is definitely opened in a manner that is heavier and harder than strictly necessary. Being The Warden was pain enough; being a warden is...irritating.

"He talks too much."

That's a possibly very petty thing to complain to the mage (who has explained to her that he is not a mage, but she remains not entirely convinced of this) about his...companion? Compatriot? Person from his same world. But talking to her inmate, a man who seems to prefer the name Silva to any of the other potential names he could be going by, is as frustrating as talking to Sten sometimes. Roundabout. Never to the point. Why does nobody ever just say what they mean?

The dwarf huffs and blows a few strands of silver hair from her face. "He uses too many words in strange ways. Would it kill him to just talk like a normal person instead of blathering on? Before I kill him."

She won't. That's not what she's here for, and he hasn't given enough reason to make her want to. But by the Stone and all of the Ancestors, he makes her job so difficult. Fighting a mob of darkspawn sometimes seems preferable.

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"Then you do not mind if I stay?" He was going to anyway, but if Q's going to be all awake about it, then he'll be polite and ask. "Perhaps you would in fact prefer it."

Silva gives the not-so-sleeping Quartermaster's hair a small ruffle before moving away. It could be so easy, he thinks. He is a hacker of the highest caliber, now with enhancements to go with it. And Q so bright and vulnerable.

Were he a far worse man.

As it is, he settles himself heavily down on the edge of the bed, lets his head hang forward with a drawn out sigh. You are not a young man anymore; you ought to stop doing such reckless things. Old habits. Dying hard.

"You are welcome to stay." If he chose to try and hack into Q, it might not end well for either of them. He knows how vulnerable his body is and has likely taken some steps to protect it.

"Just don't eat crackers in bed." Har har.

The ambient lighting in the room dims, but the steady pale blue pulsing of Q's circuits cast an eerie glow. "If you need anything, let me know and I can direct you."

The glow does distract him for a bit, watching with a tilted head, finding comfort in it. Beauty. This is art, not some dreary Turner.

"I think what I need is to follow your lead. Not beauty sleep; there is only so much that can be done with this." With a motion to his own face. Self-depricating or egotistical? Both?

Part machine he may be, but his rest comes naturally, for better or worse. Off with the shoes, he's not a slob, but not dressing down as Q has.

Unsettling dreams are old hat to Silva, but these are new. His fitful sleep comes with shades of green, tints of grey, indecipherable ciphers. A melody, or something like it, almost drilling in. It wants to strangle him, the codes want to wrap around him and squeeze, he's certain of it, bind his fingers and isolate his mind, make him toothless.

Waking consists mostly of rubbing at his human eye irritably, remembering how breathing works, and checking, checking, rechecking that all systems are nominal. Nothing to indicate infection.

Throughout the night, or what passes for night in space, Q's body recharges. By morning, the circuits will have grown further over his body, all the way up his neck, curling along his jawline, and rippling with pale blue light. Every day that they've been in the breach, it's been advancing and changing him more and more.

He's silent as he sits up and begins to remove the cables. Once the mainline is removed, the circuits fade, his eyes return to a more human appearance, and his posture loses that laxness. Today, they're going to need to take apart that thing, just to be sure that it's well and truly dead. He's going to need tea, a hammer (...just in case), and as much as he might not want it, he does need Silva's help.

Despite the dreams (he hopes they're just dreams), rest is rest, feeling much less on edge. It's better. He'll take better. Only for a moment does he check his surroundings before remembering exactly where he is.

Check the network, nothing has burnt down and his Warden still seems to be fine, so nothing important.

"Funny now to know how it is to be a computer coming out of sleep mode."

Good morning, in other words.

As Silva speaks, the lights slowly turn back on until the room is day-bright. Q has already put the kettle on, and even with a full charge, he's still not the most chatty person before he's had a cup of tea and breakfast.

Look, he's even set out a second mug. That's real hospitality there.

"I took a look at my own code, which was a surreal experience." Because of course he did. He can't make heads or tails of most of it, and wasn't too keen on tinkering at random, but the temptation was too great not to.

"Do you not have dreams when you are like this?"

If he could take himself apart and examine all the pieces, he would. But this will not last forever, and he's not about to try tinkering with his own face, not like this.

He stretches, slow, with a few audible pops. Without a change of clothes, he looks downright rumpled. And doesn't seem terribly bothered by it, at least. "It helps the brain to relax, unwind, unpack, you know."

"Like this, no. I can't sleep. The body rests, but I'm always humming along the wires." Even now, he's uploaded somewhere else and just using his body as an extension of who he really is.

"It's not ideal, but I suppose I ought to use this time to get a few things done. I'm able to work a good deal faster this way." When he's not constrained by being human, it's easier to just will code and ideas into place. "I think it's a very good thing that this won't last. I don't want to be lost in the machine forever. For a little while, it's novel. Forever? No."

He mulls it over, adds some ...Q, are you adding powdered non-dairy creamer to your tea? That is almost repulsive. "I don't have much in the way of food here, but you're welcome to whatever you can find in the cupboards."

SIR what are you DOING.

"I can go to the dining hall and deliver breakfast in bed, as it were. I could even get coffee. You English and your tea, bah."

The description is...well, he can see the pros and the cons. Losing oneself tot he machine is the subject of many a novel, but in this case, it's a very real possibility.

He shuffles over to stand by Q, in fact in the personal space that he always so readily ignores, deliberately brushing up against him. He'll malign tea, but he won't turn down the offer of something caffeinated to drink. "You are changing the barge to suit you better on a larger scale, perhaps? I have found, hm, many blocks, like firewalls in a manner of speaking, but it may also recognize that an inmate shouldn't be poking his fingers in so many pies."

What he is doing is making something good to drink. Sometimes he even adds in some coffee for a proper 3-in-1. Speaking of, there's an utterly unkind smile as he gestures to the cupboard: "I think there's instant in here."

Uncultured swine. Then again, this heathen can't seem to help but lean into Silva's space. That not-quite static seems to do something for him.

"I wouldn't say I'm changing the barge as a whole, but I've been doing some work in my quarters." There might be a couple of half-built and curiously articulated robots in a box somewhere. A roomba with a knife on it or something like that.

He grips his chest in mock shock. Instant. Madness. "Your tea wins this round, dear, but I will have my coffee later."

Mmm, the touch is quite nice. He'll even be a good boy and keep his hands mostly to himself, for the moment, for tea and waking.

"Good to keep busy with what you can. Mine, she has no mind for computers, still insists to call it magic. I think to annoy me. But she looks as though she is ready to stomp out the nearest fascist regime, and I take pity on anyone who tries to cross her." He chuckles into the mug. "So we each do what we can in these strange times."

Q makes a small, non-committal noise that Silva might be able to recognize as a sound he makes when content. If he's talking, he's thinking too much and usually putting up a front.

"I will admit fondness for anyone willing to put the boot to the jackboots." As he drinks his tea, mentally scrolls through the network, watching others react or interact with their various neon-light cyberparts. Someone's built a working TRON cycle and that's tempting.

"Shall we take some time apart or go deal with the damned thing once we're done here? It will most likely disappear once the breach fades."

And that's the opening he was looking for. Time apart is, in its own right, a fair idea. Some food, a shower, change of clothes, some quick check-ins with people of varied import--

Time apart also means apart. And so. He traces fingertips up Q's spine. Well, beside it anyway, what with the ports there. "Do you want some time apart?"

Little sparks and shivers flutter along his circuits, some of them bright enough to glow through his shirt. Q's face remains impassive, but he can't hide so easily.

"Yes, I do, but I think it best to finish this." He's having trouble integrating his mind and, well, his peripheral. Physicality doesn't translate neatly into code and knowledge. From behind a piece of furniture,there's the sound of a roomba powering on. 00Stabby might not be the best chaperone, but Q is doing what he can.

"Watch your ankles. She's vicious."

He doesn't remove his hand, fingers lingering in the neat curve where shoulder and neck meet. But he laughs at the new arrival, delighted. "Oh, she is feisty, I see! Or rather, you are, hm? I hope you don't feel threatened by my presence. You did invite me, after all."

He wants to turn his head and buss his cheek against Silva, but that would be a shockingly poor idea. Perhaps he ought to just drink his tea and coo at 00Stabby. "A bit of both, I think. I can control her, but I don't know how much of her actions are, er, programming and how much is some subroutine in the back of my mind."

When you're mostly machine, your subconscious is a strange creature.

"I did invite you and I have a healthy respect for your abilities, which can edge into a threat."

"You let me help plug you in," he points out. Smugly. "You let me look and you let me touch." However briefly, however barely.

Speaking of touch, he runs his hand up and down, neck to shoulder and back up a few times, sparking not-static tingling pleasantly in his fingers. "And you feel this."

Q turns and quick as he can, grabs onto Silva's wrist. While it ought to stop him from petting him, it does put them in even closer contact. There's a steady, crackling current snapping between them and it makes him gasp.

"I did, but that's not everything."

"No." Agreed, amicably.

And steps closer.

There's not much space between them to begin with, Silva's seen to that, but now instead of side by side, they face each other, and he closes that gap easily, pressing against Q as if he's decided he belongs there.

"But maybe this is."

Electricity crackles between them and Q's eyes drain of colour. His voice comes from the Alexa, but his face keeps its human expression: "No. Not here, not now. We have work to do."

00Stabby stays hidden, for now, but she's watching. Waiting.

He lets Silva's wrist go, but not before gently squeezing it again, setting off another cascade of glittering static. (He's really never been very good at self-control...)

His breath stutters at the squeeze, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. Work work work, why must they be so competent and talented, alas...

Steps away. One step. But it's distance.

"An hour. I'll return." Give them time for food and freshening up. Gives them time to sort themselves before delving into that...monstrous thing.

Offhandedly: "If she comes for my ankles, I'm stepping on her."

"I'll be waiting, and don't step on her, she'll shock you." Finally, 00Stabby comes trundling out, as if she wants to say good-bye. Beep? Beep! :3 She does a little whirl in the center of the room and then rolls away.

It's only a foot of space between them, but the humming power withdraws. For now. Once they're done with the Thing, Q is going to have to figure out what he wants to do about this.

It can wait. Silva is very, very patient. He doesn't like to be, not really, but it's a learned skill.

So, food. Coffee proper. A shower. (Let's not dwell on electronics and water.) A brief check-in with his warden (who seems to have acquired some form of wrench that acts as a shock baton, and he couldn't be happier for her).

On his return, politely knocking, he looks ready to face the day. Not half-dead as he'd seemed after his contact with the device. Also very casual. No need to dress up for getting down to work.

"You're sure you wouldn't rather just chuck it off the edge and be done with it?"

As the door opens, Q can be seen in the middle of the room putting together the last few odds and ends he might want in a tool kit. There is most certainly a hammer.

"In order to do that, we're still going to have to move it." He has changed into something simple, black, and with a high collar. There may be a hidden zip at the back, just in case he needs access, but that's kept covered under a jacket. If he's going to end up in a cyberpunk world, he might as well do a little more to look the part.

"Shall we?"

Listen, the part's great, it's an excellent aesthetic, but he did that yesterday and got half-fried. No, Silva's fine looking like he's just going to stay in a rec room all day doing some tinkering. He is going to be doing tinkering, after all.

They make a very unconventional looking pair.

"Hence, hammer." He shoots off one of his grins. "And your terribly effective footwear.

TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

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